


Crush my heart into embers ( I will reignite )

by Niahara_Erskine



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst, Demon!Victor, Fallen Angel!Yuri, Fluff, Gen, God's A+ Parenting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other, Supernatural Elements, Yuuri as Azrael
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-11-18 23:46:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11301324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niahara_Erskine/pseuds/Niahara_Erskine
Summary: Yuri Falls.His entire being hurts, burns as flames scorch what was once the flesh form of a cherubim. His wings dissolve behind him, ash coating him in a layer of darkness, an echo of the being he is supposed to become – dark, fallen, demon. His Grace, the very essence of himself, the link shared with his brothers and sisters is stripped from him, inch by painful inch, until he does not know what hurts more, the flames or the hollowness of his very being. He howls in agony, screams of raw despair accompanying his Fall, a fall that seems to last forever.





	1. Chapter 1

It doesn’t take much. Nothing does anymore in Heaven.

It takes simply a question.

Innocent.

Childish.

Brimming with curiosity.

A question like so many others posed in the past, when their Father’s Touch would ghost over their being, gentle words giving birth to much craved answer. The desire to understand, to make light of something unfathomable to them given form in words that seal their fate.

It doesn’t take much.

Nothing more than the desire to question.

Yuri Falls.

His entire being hurts, burns as flames scorch what was once the flesh form of a cherubim. His wings dissolve behind him, ash coating him in a layer of darkness, an echo of the being he is supposed to become – dark, fallen, demon. His Grace, the very essence of himself, the link shared with his brothers and sisters is stripped from him, inch by painful inch, until he does not know what hurts more, the flames or the hollowness of his very being. He howls in agony, screams of raw despair accompanying his Fall, a fall that seems to last forever.

_( Would Father be so cruel, to make him fall and fall forever, no landing in sight, only agony keeping him tight in its clutches, until the earth returns to the darkness from whence it come? Would such a punishment be fitting when the crime was one he did not even understand? )_

His body is flooded by dark energy, warping him into something he was never meant to be, something he never wants to acknowledge. He prefers death, but knows such not to be his punishment. He prefers death, but knows the sweet oblivion he craves will not be granted.

At long last he crashes and it hurts, worse than anything he had ever felt till then. He feels bones he had never had till then break under the pressure, stabbing tissues and muscles, tearing at flesh and veins. His skin feels tight, itches as though it is not his own. Everything is fire and darkness and pain when he crashes to Earth.

But…

Suddenly, the fire is soothed by ice. Slowly the pain is stripped from him by phantom touches merely ghosting over his newly formed body. He opens his eyes – changed he knows, but in which ways he is powerless to discern without a mirror – and looks around him, fear palpable in his gaze.

Ice and snow, a wide expanse.

Coolness on his burning, clammy skin.

A soothing voice in his ears and someone tending to him. Brown, kind eyes peering at him from beneath a dark fringe. Warms hands pressing on his skin just right to alleviate the pain. A stranger, one that by all rights should not have been there.

The one the others talked about.

The rumor from Up Above given flesh; the being said to guard over the angels that Fell. The one who discerned whether they were truly dark of heart and whether their punishment was warranted. The one who moved against God.

If the punishment was unjust, there would be this third power – a traitor some whispered, a former angel of God or perhaps even a demon - a being that caught the fallen angels and soothed their burns, mended their broken bodies and gave them a new purpose.

He had never believed such tales.

_( Why would he believe them? Why would God allow such blatant acts of rebellion? )_

But here now, with the ice burning cold beneath his broken body and the other’s soothing touch mending his skin, he knows the tales to be true. However, questions still linger at the back of his mind. Uncertainty and confusion still flares each time their gazes meet. Who is the other? What is he? Yuri craves the answers, but the stranger’s silence gives no response to his conundrum.

He feels his savior is of divine stock, older, much, much older than him. Benevolent and dangerous at the same time.

He lashes of course. He is powerless, at another being’s mercy and he hates the feeling, hates it to the depth of his newly formed bones. He expects retaliation, to be fought in return although he knows all too well he is not a challenge, not in his state.

But his savior remains gentle, soothing. Calm where he is rash, placid water where he is still a roaring flame. His newfound powers, fueled by anger and desperation, do not last long. He slowly slips into darkness, unconsciousness washing over him, but before he needs to know.

“Who are you? Why would you help me?” Why go to such risks, why move against God, he wishes to ask but is unable to do so anymore.

The other remains silent. A sad smile lingers on his face, sorrow in fathomless brown eyes, older than the earth itself. And he answers… calm, gentle: “You cannot know my real name. All those who do are not long for this world. But you may call me Yuuri. Katsuki Yuuri, that is how the children of this land know me as.”

Oblivion takes over him because he is newly Fallen, hurt and in pain, still reeling from becoming something that he was never meant to be. He is too young to know, too young to remember the being whose name must not be uttered. He was never told the story, does not know the tales of God’s first angel, the Angel of Death, long unknown and unseen in the world. Perhaps even if he would have heard the stories, he wouldn’t have believed them, disregarding them as fancy telling of the other cherubim. An angel of death? Ludicrous. What use would their Father have for such a being when it is Him who commands the Life and Death of all?

He falls unconscious and barely sees unending black wings fluttering unrestrained and old, old eyes, a scythe lingering almost unseen by his rescuer’s side. He does not see simple human clothes turning into robes of midnight black and resentment burning in a gaze that once was holy.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I saved you because I do not agree with him. I saved you because I am rebelling still. I saved you because you do not deserve to suffer forever under Lucifer’s thumb.”
> 
> Yuuri turns to him, brown gaze bearing into his own, intense and impossible to look away from, darkening with each word he continues uttering. Deep, deep and unfathomable, older than the oldest being Yuri had ever known. “Why did you fall? What question could have been so damning that eternal suffering would have been a fitting punishment?”

He wakes in stages.

Light starts pricking his eyelids, lashes trembling at its brilliance, the darkness of before chased away by the rising sun. He feels warm and comfortable, the ache – the pain – of before, numbed to a very dull throb, the burns on his body soothed until nothing remains but a simple sentiment of discomfort. He claws his way back to awareness, eyes blinking the blurriness away as they open to take in the place he finds himself in.

The expanse of brilliant white has been replaced with a small cottage, the smell of pine wood permeating in the room, a fire crackling merrily in the fireplace. The bed he finds himself lying in is comfortable, the blankets arranged over his body numerous though not stifling. He kicks them aside, stands on feet newly formed, gazes at himself in the mirror lying innocuously in the far corner of the room.

Angels have no shape or body, not truly. They are beings made of light and brilliance, formless figures with barely discernible features gliding on wings of pure white across the expanse of the Heaves. Only when they descend from their Heavenly abode do they assume a shape closer to the visage of Men, in an effort not to scare away those they reveal themselves to.

Such is the shape Yuri finds himself in now, tangible yet utterly foreign, strange for one that had not felt the constrains of such a body before. Blonde hair and green eyes where once the blue of angels shone, fey-like limbs and pale skin. His back twinges, an echo of the pain linked to his Fall and he turns from the mirror, unwilling yet to see the remnant of once white wings, the jagged red scars that are sure to adorn his skin.

His feet move without his accord, outside the warmth of the house, guiding him across the frozen expanse of the other day. He should be cold, his bare feet and his newly given garments paper thin, perfect for the warmth of the cottage but nothing more. He should shiver under the snow and the ice, his fragile human-like body crying its displeasure through trembles and rapidly cooling skin.

He should be cold and perhaps he is, perhaps under the single-minded focus guiding his steps lingers the sensation of ice cutting in the soles of his feet, thin trails of blood staining the pristine white, tinges of blue spreading across pale lips, teeth chattering without stop. Perhaps under the turmoil in his mind, under the shock and the horror and the numbing anguish, his newly formed body is pleading for reprieve.

But if it is, the feeling eludes him still.

He stops only when he comes across the wide expanse of ice he barely remembers from his Fall, only when the creaking snow gives way to the smooth surface of the lake. He stops when he sees his savior, clad in black as before, gliding with abandon on the lake, blades tied to his boots and body moving to a music heard only to him.

_( The choir of the archangels, Yuuri would later explain, was one of the few things he still remembered from before, still yearned to hear again. So, he kept the music alive through the ice and the memories, clung to fragments of recollection even when all threatened to blur into nothingness, when time tried to snatch away the precious few memories he wished to preserve. )_

Ethereal, that is how Yuri would describe him, had he not been of divine stock also, had his life till then not been governed by perfection beyond the understanding of mortal folk. Ethereal and arresting, movements graceful and fluid, more perfect than anything Heaven could even offer. Pirouettes and steps, a dance on ice Yuri could never had imagined before. And though his jumps faltered and his landings broke the perfect balance created till then, it seemed that even such imperfections were meant to be part of the whole, shaping a sort of tragic beauty that wished to hide the imperfect chinks in its armor with a façade of perfection.

For the first the first time in his life, Yuri finds himself wanting. Yearning…

Angels cannot be more than their role. They were not given Free Will, the ability to challenge Fate and wrestle with it for their way in life. They were not offered to chance to do as they wished, to desire more, to dream. Such gifts were granted to humans alone.

But here, now, Yuri is no longer an angel.

_( He is not a demon either, the darkness that he had felt building in his limbs as he fell, simmering low in his veins, keeping hidden and silent, the black wings that should have replaced a plumage of pure white remaining unseen. His eyes, though green – the color of envy, not the pure blue of the skies – remain human-like, not the crimson red nor the pitch black of demons. He is no longer an angel, but neither is he a demon or a human, merely something lingering in-between. )_

Here now Yuri can wish for more.

His steps, halting, hesitant, touch the surface of the ice.

One, two, three, bare skin meeting the frigid soil beneath until he slips, body tilting backwards and collapsing with a loud thud.

“You are awake.”

The voice of his savior – Yuuri he reminds himself – rings over the stillness of the lake, surprise painted across every word, blades cutting with ease across the icy expanse until he stops next to him. “Are you hurt?”

A shake of the head, denial offered in silence. Green eyes hone on the bladed boots, an eyebrow rising in inquiry. “What were you doing?”

“Skating,” Yuuri smiles, the simple act making him almost blinding to look at, a reminder that the other is of divine stock though the fallen angel has no way of knowing what identity he hides “Father’s wayward children invented this practice some time ago. Some of them are magnificent to watch as they glide on the ice. I tried to copy their movements, though I am not as talented as them,” the other says with a rueful shrug as he unties the blades from his boots and offers a hand to the blonde-haired angel to hoist him up.

’ _You are wrong,’_ Yuri wishes to say, though he reins his words in. Already pride rears his head in his very being, a sentiment he had not felt till them, an anomaly he knows not how to deal with. Pride reins in his words though he wishes to applaud the other for his skill, for the grace with which he twirls and the ease through which music is conveyed through sheer movements alone. _‘You are wrong,’_ he wishes to say, but what comes out is: “Your jumps are pathetic.”

Yuuri does not laugh, but his lips curl upwards, brown eyes crinkling in amusement and for a moment the angel is shocked by his own audacity, but he does not take the words back. “I can hardly dispute that.” He pauses for a moment, a brief flare of confusion flaring on his features, before a rueful smile crosses his features makes itself known. “I just realized, I do not know your name.”

“Yuri,” the blonde replies, inwardly cringing at the coincidence of the two of them sharing the same name. An uncommon occurrence, or perhaps a mere coincidence. He does not wish to think of the possibility of their Father meddling in their fate; the betrayal dealt by his divine Creator is a wound still too raw and deep to contemplate.

“Uncommon name for an angel,” the other teases lightly, gently, prompting for answers without actually posing any questions, offering Yuri the chance to backpedal should he so wish.

“It used to be Yuraiel,” the angel retorted sharply, brows lowering in a frown of impatience. “However, it was too similar to the high and mighty Uriel so he up and decided to shorten it. Father did not stop him so it remained thusly.”

“I see,” Yuuri replies, attention moving once more to his companion’s disheveled attire.  It is only then that he finally takes note of the angel’s half-frozen state, of the wounds on his feet and the shivers wrecking his body.

“Come, you are half frozen. I did not save you just so you could freeze to death later. And those wounds need to be dealt with.”

“Why?” The conversation changes abruptly and the words are out before he can stop them, feet digging in the frozen ground, refusing to move another inch before his questions are answered. “Why did you save me?” It is unnatural, to see another so willing to rebel against their Father. It is frightening, truly, for who could be so daring as not to fear divine retribution, who could have nothing at all to lose?

Yuri is unsure whether he wishes to know.

“Father and I had a disagreement millenniums ago. I rebelled against his words in a time when Lucifer was still getting pats on the head for being the perfect child.” The words sour as he utters them, bitterness coating each syllable though his tone remains level and soft. There is a wound there, festering still, resentment burning across the ages and Yuri wonders yet again who could the other truly be. “I saved you because I do not agree with him. I saved you because I am rebelling still. I saved you because you do not deserve to suffer forever under Lucifer’s thumb.”

Yuuri turns to him, brown gaze bearing into his own, intense and impossible to look away from, darkening with each word he continues uttering. Deep, deep and unfathomable, older than the oldest being Yuri had ever known. “Why did you fall? What question could have been so damning that eternal suffering would have been a fitting punishment?”

“I …” the angel chokes, words barely making it past the lump in his throat. The same confusion roars in his mind, the same disbelieving shock that had grasped him as he had found himself tumbling downwards. But the question he had asked remains beyond his recollection, the last moments in Heaven obscured forever by the Fall. “I can’t remember.”

Yuuri asks no more and falls silent, no more words offered as they resume their trek back to the cottage. The angel does not press for answers though he wishes to do so; there is a stiffness in Yuuri’s posture, an underlying anger that had not been there before, a feeling so close to hatred exuding that makes the angel refrain from questioning even further. He should be scared perhaps, scared to be in the other’s presence, caught under the intensity of his emotions. He should be scared, but he is not, because he remembers soothing touches and ice on his burning skin, remembers a helping hand offered when he was at his lowest and shelter offered where none was expected.

He should be scared, but he is not. Rather he feels safe in the other’s presence, his newly etched existence less daunting than it had felt when he had woken, the questions he held still silenced for the time being.

Instead of fear he feels content, his gaze wandering back to the lake and the ice, mind grasping the straws of recollection, of the beautiful dance he had witness on the slippery surface. Skating, Yuuri had said and the angel does not forget the feeling that pierced his soul when he had first seen the dazzling glide over ice, does not forget the sheer yearning.

“Teach me!” he says instead, casting aside Heaven for the moment and allowing himself to **_want_** for the very first time. “Teach me how to skate,” he demands, and is not surprised to see some of the tension flee from the other’s posture, to see a wisp of a smile return to his features as brown eyes bear into green.

“Very well.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He lies awake most of the night, twisting and turning, his skin itching, uncomfortable and foreign, sleep eluding him the more he closes his eyes and just wills himself to dream. Why did you fall, Yuuri had asked and there had been nothing malicious in his question, merely indignation and the ingrained knowledge that whatever may have happened, whatever Yuri himself failed to remember, could not have been so bad as to warrant banishment from Heaven.
> 
> "Why did you fall", Yuuri had asked him at the lake and a small, bitter part of himself wanted to retort: "Why did you not?"

The cottage is silent when they return, Yuuri a presence that lingers but briefly, offering a new change of clothes and tending to the wounds on his feet, before vanishing yet again after promising to start teaching him how to skate the following day. Warmth chases the frost of before, buries in his bones, the blue tinge of his skin fading to nothingness. He hides under the blankets, cocoons himself in them in an effort to find some rest, but it proves to be for naught.

He lies awake most of the night, twisting and turning, his skin itching, uncomfortable and foreign, sleep eluding him the more he closes his eyes and just wills himself to dream. _Why did you fall_ , Yuuri had asked and there had been nothing malicious in his question, merely indignation and the ingrained knowledge that whatever may have happened, whatever Yuri himself failed to remember, could not have been so bad as to warrant banishment from Heaven.

 _Why did you fall,_ Yuuri had asked him at the lake and a small, bitter part of himself wanted to retort _Why did you not?_ even though he had no true proof that the other wasn’t fallen, merely a deeply ingrained suspicion he could not shake off. The feeling of wrongness did not cling to Yuuri, the smell of tar and Sulphur, the sheer oppressive darkness rolling off his skin, malice that painted demons in their true colors.

 _Why did you not?_ He wanted to ask though he knew it was petty of him, jealousy simmering deep in his soul, a banking fire he had no wish to kindle more than it already burned. A coiled serpent biting his newly formed heart with its poisoned teeth, murmured whispers of Leviathan echoing in his mind.

Yuuri himself had acknowledged he had rebelled, went against their Father, twisted his words and no longer belonged to the celestial plains. Why, then had he not been struck down, as Lucifer had, as Asmodeus, cast to the very depths of Hell in a ball of fire and damnation? What painted him different from the rest of them, what merited this caution with which God handled him?

The answers lie beyond his reach, in the rage flaring in Yuuri’s eyes now and then, in the wings clouding the sky as Yuri recalled them from before unconsciousness had taken over him - dark, dark, darker than the darkest night and yet angel like, divine light making them blinding to look upon -, in the hatred bubbling just beyond the surface, hatred that his savior tries to push aside, to shrug off like an ill fitted mantle unwilling to remain on his shoulders.

It is a mystery that cannot be answered now, here, in the silence of his room, with the fire casting shadows over the wooden walls, with the warmth of the flames suffused in every nook and cranny. The cottage is a sanctuary, a hiding place meant to offer rest and healing, and though Yuri wishes he could ponder more on the questions he has, sleep finally lulls him into its embrace, darkness stealing over his eyelids.

But, though he falls asleep even as the first rays of the sun pierce the darkness, his slumber is troubled, fitful, fire and ash burning behind his eyelids, an image of Hell painted in his imagination even as reality kept him away from it. He finds little rest that night or many of the nights that follow.

* * *

 

Skating is hard, harder than Yuri might have expected. It’s sweat and pain and bruises, his body colliding with the ice more times than he wishes to count, limbs aching at the end of the day. The inborn agility that still lingers in newly formed bones does not aid him much; it makes it easier perhaps, easier than any human would ever dream, but still it is hard, a struggle he had never contemplated till then but one that is liberating in its hardship.

The ice offers him freedom, skates – for Yuuri had brought him proper skates and not the makeshift boots the older being used – gliding with abandon over the ice, body contorting in pirouettes and tasting imponderability on his tongue as he jumps. He is better at this than Yuuri, a natural when it comes to jumps, arms raised above his head and body twisting once, twice, three times in the air before landing smoothly.

He finds artistry harder, Yuuri’s ability to convey music and emotions through his movements eluding him, the adrenaline pumping in his veins with each jump so much easier to contain than the mere thought of showing what lingers in his soul, the sorrow burning through his veins, the anguish at being denied Heaven, the very rage aimed at his brothers and sisters – at their Father – for condemning him so, the weakness he pushes so far down until he fools even himself that it no longer exists.

He pretends he can fly once more, body flowing off the ice, touching the skies for the briefest of moments, before gravity drags him back down, spins faster and faster until he can no longer contain them. It is better than thinking back, better than trying to remember, better than aiming to find purchase in a world not his own, caught in a body that still feels foreign and weighed down by shackles that bind him to the earth and deny him the skies.

It is perhaps because he is lost in his thoughts, mind churning endlessly, turmoil hidden behind jumps and glides, that he does not hear the newcomer until they appear, does not notice the flap of wings until their forces blasts at him as he jumps, center of gravity lost until he finds himself face down on the ice. He turns – _fast, no moment of hesitation_ \- body fueled by adrenaline alone twisting from the path of the oncoming blade, divine fire striking mere inches from him. Green eyes widen in confusion – _betrayal_ – hands burying in the icy surface below, pushing him upwards, feet already moving to put space between him and the newcomer.

“Ophaniel?” he asks and he hates how confused his voice sounds – _lost ­_ ­– even as his once sister prepares to strike at him once more. Her sword is ablaze, divine metal bursting with white flames and there is no chance he has to outrun her, not even with the skates on his feet and the burst of speed they can offer. “Why?”

“You were supposed to Fall, not linger in this world to taint it. I’m just making sure Father’s Will is done,” she cries, her recently formed features twisting in despair, self-loathing stark in her gaze even though the sword starts falling.

Before he has the chance to brace himself for the hit, a force pushes him out of the way, darkness clouding his vision, the ring of metal on metal echoing in the stillness of the frozen wasteland. Yuuri stands as his shield, dark wings spreading almost endlessly, a scythe raised in a firm grip. Ophaniel’s sword has been caught mid-fall, flames dying out as shock flared on her features.

“You!” the angel snarls, before her face twists in a rictus of hatred, words coated in vitriol hurled with impunity. “A monster protecting a traitor. How very fitting!”

“Ophaniel,” Yuuri replies evenly, though his eyes flare with anger, an undercurrent of steel hiding beneath the casually uttered name. “I had thought Heaven to be too far away for casual visits. Was I mistaken?”

“There is nothing casual about my presence here. That one was bound for Lucifer’s realm and you interfered yet again. Father is displeased.”

“I couldn’t care less about Father’s displeasure,” Yuuri replies, body moving to better shield the fallen angel from the newcomer. “I had thought we had settled that matter some eons ago. I do not wish to fight you Ophaniel and you have no hope of winning.”

“I am no longer the weakling from millenniums ago.” Ophaniel spits, sword returning by her side, flames burning bright once more as she beholds her enemy. “I will deal with you and after move to your little protegee.”

“Are you so sure?” Yuuri asks, an eyebrow cocking in silent beckoning, mocking, features twisting into a mirthless smirk as he grasps the scythe more firmly. He blazes, divine light flaring across dark wings, the only hint given to his true allegiance. An angel still, not a demon, despite the darkness of his countenance, suspicions turned intro tangible truth, and Yuri wonders yet again who exactly the other might be. He finds himself wishing to offer his help, blades gliding forward on the ice, half-formed words lingering unuttered, but his savior turns, rueful acceptance mingled with bitterness echoing in his old eyes.

“Stay back, Yuri. There is no need for both of us to become monsters this day.”

Something changes in his countenance as he turns, something dark and powerful, twisting until the shell that is Katsuki Yuuri fades away and a being older than mortal comprehension lingers in its place. His lower wings spread and tremble, silver streaked obsidian blazing under the shinning sun, higher wings stretching further and further, no beginning and no end, merely an expanse of darkness filling all in their vicinity. Power crackles, primordial and raw, carving crevices in the earth, shattering ice and pushing aside snow, burying in the very soil from whence humanity was birthed. Cold silver sings through the air, a weapon falling mercilessly before the other can even be raised, a flash of destruction echoing before all comes undone.

Ophaniel staggers, eyes _wide, wide, wide_ , pupils blown and the blue of her irises bleeding into the white. Unspoken words gurgle in her throat, damnation or perhaps prayers remaining unuttered and her knees collapse upon themselves, bringing her to the ground as golden blood stains the earth below. She falls, body dissolving into light, no sign of her existence lingering in the aftermath but for Yuuri’s own cry of rage – _of sorrow_ – anguish burning on his features as he too collapses in the snow, the mantle of power from before cast aside for the lesser shape he prefers assuming, scythe tossed away in hatred. His hands burn, palms blistering red and raw, the power he commands turned against him, but it is nothing more than he deserves, death and destruction hounding his steps for all eternity. Words roll from his lips, desperate and remorseful, in a language none may utter now, fervent muttering succeeding even as tears stream down Yuuri’s face and his eyes cloud with despair – _guilt, anguish._

Yuri is rooted to the spot, feet frozen in place by shock – _horror perhaps, or even fear, ice coursing through his blood, shivers that have nothing to do with the cold wreaking hid body_ – eyes glued to the spot where Ophaniel had once laid, to the spot where Yuuri had fallen to his knees, crying his regret in soft, hiccupping sobs. It does not take long for the shock to fade, for anger to take its place, raw rage and bitterness warping the feeling of powerlessness of before, making it flare anew in a different form. Rage at the Heavens for hunting them, rage at himself for not being strong enough, for needing Yuuri to fight his battles.

“Come on! You need those wounds tended to,” he says, tossing the skates unceremoniously aside, bare feet making the snow crunch under his steps as he approaches the other. His expression is pinched, anger simmering in green gaze, but he restrains it somewhat, offers a hand to the other to drag him back to his feet.

“Yuri?” Brown eyes raise from the ground, fearful – _resigned –_ already expecting the damnation that is sure to come, the fear and the hatred. Yuri hates it, hates it viscerally, the emotions rolling from the other in waves, the terror overriding the confidence of before, the self-hatred painting him in the colors of villain when he had done nothing more than offer protection.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Yuri snaps and it is the closest he can come to _‘thank you,’_ to _‘you saved me yet again.’_ “It’s not your fault.” Perhaps if he had been stronger – less jaded, less bitter – he would have said more, tried to reassure the other, but as if is, that is the most he can offer, sharp words hiding concern and gratefulness, an outstretched hand pulling the other to his feet, mindful of his injuries.

It is not enough, not nearly. He knows it, knows his simple acceptance cannot chase away the shadows in Yuuri’s eyes, the lingering wounds in his soul.

It is not enough, but for the moment it has to be. They are both broken; Heaven chewed them up and spit them out ruined and shattered, crippled dolls put together haphazardly. In time, they might heal; but for now, they must merely endure.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri dreams… and in dreams, he is free.
> 
> White wings burst behind his back, body gliding with abandon over the wide expanse of the Heavens, formless features blurring in the wind and the sun, a shimmering, ethereal figure reaching for the very skies and able to touch them. The moment of imponderability, wings stopping their movements at his back, body freezing in the moment, the clouds embracing him before sliding downwards smoothly, before momentum pics up, faster and faster and faster, a dizzying fall that he can break anytime he wants. A glimpse of the group flares at his horizon, but he breaks the fall, wings flapping behind his back, once, twice, thrice, before he is raising, soaring, the unending expanse of the skies embracing him yet again.

“I am Death.”

The words come late that night, a shameful admission making guilt curl low in Yuuri’s gut, a halting truth that he forces past unwilling lips. The fireplace casts shadows on his features, hands trembling under the bandages Yuri had wrapped around his wounds after they had entered the cottage, trying to sooth the hurts he refused to heal, nails curling into his palm, aggravating already smarting burns.

“That is the role He shaped for me. Creation’s shadow, death and destruction always following in my wake.”

Black wings flare at his back, smaller, lesser than they had appeared in the battle with Ophaniel, a mere fraction of their power unleashed and Yuuri smiles, sadly, bitterly, appendages quivering under his sorrow, twitching, a lone feather dropping to the ground.

“I am the End. I was there at the Beginning when the world burst into being, when Suns came to life in the endless skies and nebulas burned in the darkness. When Black holes roared at the edge of galaxies and planets came into being. I shall Be when Creation collapses into itself, when only the primordial Darkness shall reign absolute.”

It was an admission that Yuri would have had no way of knowing, a truth he would have had no way of guessing. Young as he was, merely a fledgeling in the eyes of his peers, he would not have heard such tales, about the angel that cradled those that passed into his arms, about the being older than the Universe itself that brought reprieve from the bittersweet existence that was life.

“Black wings,” Yuuri laughed darkly glancing at his appendages, at the irony painted across his feather. “A demon’s wings long before demons were ever made. And yet I never Fell.” His eyes softened, brown gaze seeking the small bundle curled under the blankets, the slumbering fledgling that he had wrestled from God’s decree. Green eyes closed in slumber, a small frown etched on youthful features, Yuri slept on, the events of the day too much for his newly formed body. And as he slept, Death kept guard over him.

“Perhaps one day I will be less of a coward and tell you all this.”

* * *

 

Yuri dreams… and in dreams, he is free.

White wings burst behind his back, body gliding with abandon over the wide expanse of the Heavens, formless features blurring in the wind and the sun, a shimmering, ethereal figure reaching for the very skies and able to touch them. The moment of imponderability, wings stopping their movements at his back, body freezing in the moment, the clouds embracing him before sliding downwards smoothly, before momentum pics up, faster and faster and faster, a dizzying fall that he can break anytime he wants. A glimpse of the group flares at his horizon, but he breaks the fall, wings flapping behind his back, once, twice, thrice, before he is raising, soaring, the unending expanse of the skies embracing him yet again.

The dream changes and the wings fade to nothingness, but skates appear on his feet, the smooth expanse of the ice stretching beneath his blades. He glides, carefully so in the beginning, before habit kicks in, before he can trust in the stability of his movements and then abandons his self to the twists and the swirls, to the dizzying jumps that make his body spin fast, faster than ever before, to the four salchow spins that almost let him touch the clouds and the adrenaline rushing through newly formed veins. It is a freedom different than that of the Heavens, rawer in a way, but truer, a freedom born outside the ever-judging eye of his Father, outside the confines of the Heavens that he had not noticed until he had Fallen.

It is a human freedom and all the more precious in its existence, for there is right and wrong here, choices stretching at his feet, the ability to use a free will he had never imagined having before. It is a freedom he had resented in the beginning, but he is slowly growing accustomed to, a freedom where he does not need to fear a faux pas or saying the wrong thing for consequences are not as dire in this world as the one he had left. He can no longer Fall. He can no longer Rise. But he can, perhaps for the very first time, **_live._**

When he wakes, he is still Fallen, wings burned to a cinder at his back, the wide expanse of the universe cut from him without remorse, brotherly bonds sundered by a Fall he does not even understand. But even so, the hurt has dulled to a mere throb, the betrayal still ringing loudly in his soul but buried under a layer of bewilderment, of deeply rooted loyalty he feels for the one that rescued him, under a vow to become stronger, to keep Yuuri from having to make the same choice as before in order to save him.

The cottage is silent, steam curling softly from a mug left on the wooden table, the fire burned down to mere embers, smoldering in the fireplace and maintaining the warmth of the chambers. Clothes are arranged neatly at the side of his bed, left by Yuuri no doubt as had grown his habit, the skates he had previously tossed unceremoniously under the bed, laid carefully near the door. An offer, one Yuri cannot refuse though the lake had grown perilous, the presence of Ophaniel an ill omen of what might come in the future.

However, even though he might be beset once more by his once brothers and sisters, Yuri will not allow himself to be guided by fear. He will not allow those that abandoned him _– that now hunt him_ – to destroy the glimmer of happiness he has forged for himself in this new world.

The skates find their way to his feet, body bundled warmly under the many layers of clothing he had been given and without a second thought, Yuri leaves the cottage.

* * *

 

“The lake is safe now.”

That is the first thing Yuuri tells him when he arrives, words whispered over the expanse of the ice as the dark haired being glides in eights on his surface. His movements are loose, uncertain, a sort of careless abandon painted all over them that had not been there before. Brown eyes are darkened in sorrow – guilt maybe – and Yuuri makes no attempt to jump or twirl, not as he had done the first day. He merely allows his feet to lead him back and forth, a dance of desperation beneath which he attempts to hide the image of death still burned on his retina, the look of horror flashing in Ophaniel’s eyes just before she had been rendered unmade.

“I’ve shielded it to the best of my abilities. There aren’t many that have the power to break down that shield. Even less that are allowed to pass it.”

There is not much he can answer to those words. Yuri must trust in the other’s abilities even when his own are pathetically lessened. His is curious as to who are those that are allowed to pass the shield, the maybe friends Yuuri holds in this world. Were they human the shield would do little to stop them, its existence meant to thwart those of divine origin. Not human then, but something else, perhaps as unaligned to Heaven or Hell as Yuuri himself is.

“Who is…”

Before Yuri has time to utter his question out loud, before he can even form the thought coherently in his mind, the shield trembles, flickers, translucent burning brilliant blue for mere moments, before it settles, a joyfully cry echoing in the frozen wilderness.

“Yuuuuuuuuuriiiiiiiii!”

The voice is loud and exuberant and for a moment Yuuri’s eyes go wide in astonishment, before they soften, genuine happiness flickering in them as the stranger appears, alongside with one another. His feet are already moving before the figures have the time to pass the shield properly, blades running across the expanse of the ice. Silver hair and blue eyes glimmer at the horizon, features bleeding love and adoration, a pair of grey wings bursting at the newcomer’s back, ruffling in excitement. The steps hasten on both sides, the dark haired being no longer paying attention to the ice blurring into snow and he trips, body propelled forward in expecting arms.

He hides his face in the other’s chest, eyes brimming with tears despite wanting to, a soft hitching sob barely audible in the frozen wasteland and the newcomer closes his arms around him, draws him impossibly close, endearments murmured in his ears even as his fingers draw circles on his back in an attempt to sooth him.

“Victor,” Yuuri sighs through his tears, fingers clenching on the other’s furred coat, the name whispered again and again and again like a mantra, a prayer, a desperate attempt to remind himself that he is real and he is there, that despite it all God had not retaliated, not yet.

“Yuuri. Yuuri, what’s wrong?” Victor asks, his hands never stopping their movement, blue eyes darkening as he sees his loved one coming undone on the spot, as tears runs tracks on Yuuri’s cheeks and his body shudders in grief, fear, anger. “ _Solnishko, what happened?”_

_“Father,” a word, chocked, desperate, betrayed. “Ophaniel.” Another, guilt ridden, remorseful, bitter. No more explanations to come apart from the shuddering breaths trying to still, to calm and the tight, desperate grip._

_“What has he done?” And there is fury there in Victor’s voice, even though coated under a layer of icy calm, under bravado and a choice made millenniums ago that he does not regret and never will. Yuuri will not answer immediately, he knows that all too well. Whatever has happened is still too raw, too vivid. So, Victor drags him gently, back to the ice, hands intertwined as both glide across the expanse of the lake though the silver haired newcomer has no skates, merely a pair of boots that slip now and then, lose their purchase before recovering it anew._

_And little by little, Yuuri calms._

* * *

To say that Yuri watches the scene in complete bewilderment would be an understatement. The moment the newcomers appear, warning flags flash at the edge of his vision, teeth grinding and anger blooming on his features. He fears another attack even if Yuuri believes in his shield, even if the newcomer bursts in with all the enthusiasm of a child at the circus, fears the treachery and betrayal of Heaven. The grey wings flaring above the glimmering snow give him room for pause – grey, light grey almost silver and never had he seen such a shade, it had always been white or black, never something in-between – but it is Yuuri’s own actions that make the tension drain from his shoulders, make him drop the threatening pose he had unknowingly assumed. Yuuri falls in the other’s arms as if his strings had been caught all the sudden, surrendering fully and completely, and the sheer act of trust makes Yuri staggers, draw back a little, a desperate sort of wistfulness flaring in green eyes.

“Well, well, Yuuri picked up a cute stray.”

It is only when the words register in his mind that the fallen angel remembers the second newcomer and turns to look at him more properly. Two-toned blonde and brown hair, yellow eyes and a leering smile, the second newcomer grins at him from a few feet away, black wings flaring mockingly at his side, unrestrained and unruffled by their presence.

A demon, Yuri’s mind is quick to whisper.

An enemy, he should think, but the other stands beneath the shield raised by Yuuri, fully unconcerned, now and then tossing indulgent smiles to the pair skating on the ice. Before he has time to think, the demon closes the space between them, one arm thrown casually across his shoulders and pulling him close, golden eyes roaming over him unashamed.

“Not very shabby. Nice eyes, blonde hair. You’d tempt many a pretty fool with those looks. Not sure what he keeps seeing in angels though, we demons are much more interesting.”

The words are accompanied by a wink and a kiss pressed against Yuri’s cheek, sinful in some way despite its casual nature. The fallen angel pulls away as if burned, rage already blooming on his features, green eyes narrowing in anger, but the demon merely laughs at his outrage, unrestrained guffaws making their way to the pair now ice dancing on the surface of the lake.

“Chris, leave my fledgeling alone!” Yuuri calls from across the frozen expanse and Yuri’s rage dies out when he hears the words – belonging offered at long last-, when he sees the shadows chased from his savior’s eyes, a soft glimmer of hope making its way back in the ancient gaze.

At his side, the demon still throws him a leer, unapologetic to the last, but acquiesces to Yuuri’s demand and keeps his distance.

That does not keep Yuri from bristling though. He has never thought lust demons would prove to be so annoying. Dangerous, yes, but never annoying.

 

 

 


End file.
